


Breathing the Same Air As You

by misbegotten



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: F/M, First Time, PWP, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-09 13:24:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13482381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbegotten/pseuds/misbegotten
Summary: "Did you get lost?" Miller asks him. Maybe not.





	Breathing the Same Air As You

**Author's Note:**

> The "getting together after series 2" fic that no one was waiting for. Takes place directly after the final episode of series 2. Thanks to kayim for the beta. All errors are, of course, my own.

The taxi driver asks him again for a destination. Hardy doesn't know where to go.

So he goes home.

The little blue house is still the same as it was less than half an hour earlier. No reason it shouldn't be. He hefts his bags -- two bags for all he possesses in the world, and isn't that a sad state of affairs? -- and lets himself back in.

There's no food in the fridge, of course, because he'd cleaned it all out before he left. No milk for tea. He makes some anyway, and sits outside the door to drink it after discarding his jacket and tie. The sun is going down by the time he finishes the tea, and he considers walking to the chip shop for something obnoxiously fried to eat, but he doesn't.

He feels as though he's waiting for something. Some sign that he's doing the right thing, maybe? His mother believed in signs, but despite his deep-seated sense of right and wrong, Hardy isn't sure that he does. He'd called his time in Broadchurch penance, hadn't he? With that behind him, with Sandbrook and Pippa and Lisa laid to rest, what is he waiting for?

This feels different than his penance. This feels like wanting something that is just out of reach.

"What're you doing here?" Miller asks, as she rounds the corner. She doesn't seem particularly surprised to see him, though.

"I could ask you the same," he says, discomfited. He puts down his mug and stands, wiping nonexistent dirt off his trousers.

Miller waves a hand in the general direction of the road. "I was walking Tom and Fred back home when I saw the light on." She grins. "Did you get lost?"

Hardy sighs. Trust her to put an accurate name to what he's feeling. She's better at emotions than him.

"Sort of," he answers. "Do you want--" He still doesn't have any sustenance to offer, so he finishes with "--to come in?"

Miller brushes back a stray piece of hair from her forehead. "Yeah, all right."

He scoops up the mug and lets her in the door. "What have you been doing?" he asks as he puts the mug in the sink.

She takes off her orange jacket and folds it over her arm. "Been on the beach with Beth and Mark and the kids."

"Oh," he says. "Everything good there, then?"

She smiles, and it's probably the most relaxed he's ever seen her. "Yeah," she says, obviously cheered by the thought. She tosses her jacket over the back of the chair in the living room and takes a seat on the couch. "Everything is pretty good. For a change."

"Good." He glances at the chair -- the orange jacket seems to have expanded to take up all the available room -- and sits next to her on the couch instead. "I'm happy for you, Miller."

She bumps knees with him. "So you going to stay around, then?"

He exhales noisily, runs a hand through his hair. "I dunno," he admits. "It looks like it."

"Stay on as DI?"

"Unless you want the job," he says, but she snorts.

"Nah," she responds. "They'd just bring in someone new." She stretches her legs out and seems to be contemplating her shoes as she adds, "Better you than a stranger."

"Thanks," he says wryly. Then, as he realises he means it, he says more sincerely, "Thank you."

She turns, drawing her leg up so she can better face him. She's wearing a smile. He can't remember the last time she smiled around him. He can't remember ever seeing her this _happy_.

"You look good," he says, then considers how daft it sounds. "I mean--"

"Don't spoil it," she says carefully, but there's a touch of amusement in her tone. "And are you? Happy, I mean?"

He considers it for a moment. "Yeah," he answers, finally. "I am."

"I'm glad." She puts a hand on his shoulder, presses her fingers into his shirt. She's halfway leaning into him. It's odd. Yet comfortable. They've never been this close, never been so at ease this way. It tugs at his stomach as he pinpoints what he's feeling.

Oh, he's going to overthink this, isn't he?

"Miller," he says quickly, before his inner censor can stop him. "Can I kiss you?"

She blinks in surprise. But she doesn't pull back. "I don't know," she says, her fingers flexing on his shoulder. "Do you want to?"

"I think I want to, yeah."

"Maybe you should be more certain."

He nods. She's just watching him, her face tilted towards his but not moving.

Fuck it.

He lowers his head, meets her lips with his.

She sighs slightly, her lips parting. It's all the encouragement he needs to press forward, raising his hand to cup her cheek and draw her closer. She still smells of the beach, of something warm and free.

It's electrifying. When they part briefly there are some words -- useless and rubbish ones -- on the tip of his tongue. But she leans forward to kiss him again.

His brain short-circuits.

Somehow he ends up with her in his lap, fingers fisted in her hair, nosing the hollow of her neck as she grinds against him. It's too much and not enough at the same time. He looses one hand from her hair and slides it down her back, pulling her upright so that he's got access to her breasts. His fingers touch the skin at her back at the same time that he mouths her nipple through the fabric of her shirt, and she arches into him with a little moan.

"Miller--" he starts, and then corrects himself. "Ellie. Can I?" He tugs on her shirt.

She looks down at him and a smile touches her lips. "We don't do this."

He feels foolish, apologies at the ready.

Then she adds, "You better let me help."

She twists, pulling her shirt over her head and letting it fall to the floor. He's already fumbling at the hook on her bra and she does that magic thing that women do, where the clasp just parts and she slides out of the fabric so that he can touch her properly. He bends and takes her left nipple in his mouth, sucking gently.

She moans approvingly. "Alec," she says, trying to tug at his shirt but he's greedy now, laving her skin, cupping her other breast in his hand, feeling the heft in his palm and relishing it.

It's been a long time since he did this. But, apparently, his efforts are not without merit.

She scrambles at the buttons on his shirtfront and he relents. Together they fumble the buttons through the holes until finally he's shed of it, and her fingers skate down to palm his erection through his trousers.

He hisses in the good way. "I'm not going to last long if you do much of that," he complains and she grins, cheeky now.

"Then come on," she urges him, looping a finger at his belt buckle and tugging.

There's that short-circuit again, and when he comes to himself she's already kicked off her shoes and trousers, littering the path towards his bed with her clothes. He quickly follows, nearly tripping in his haste to untangle himself from his own clothing.

There is no sheet. He'd stripped the it for his departure. Ellie snickers and twitches the duvet he'd folded at the foot of the bed across the mattress. Then -- _fuck_ \-- she splays herself across it, unabashed.

He sinks down, acutely aware of how gangly his limbs feel and how pale his skin is. The scar on his chest, his pacemaker scar, seems to stand out in the dim light of the room. 

Ellie has an artless grace and, apparently sensing his hesitation, she extends a hand, threading her fingers through his. "Alec," she says gently. "Stop thinking."

He looks at her, pained, as a thought crosses his mind. "No condom," he forces out.

She tightens her grip on his fingers. "You clean?"

He nods.

"Then we're fine." She arches her eyebrows as he still hesitates over her. "Would it help if I berate you? Criticise your technique?"

He smiles, he can't help it. "It might," he retorts. "It'd be more 'us'."

She stifles a laugh. "I'm trying not to ruin the mood. But if you're into abuse, I can work on it."

"No," he says, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in for a messy kiss. "I like this side of you."

She moves her hand and -- oh _there_ \-- she's got his cock in her grip. "I think you like all the sides of me."

"I do," he agrees, and she slides her thumb over the weeping tip. She trails her thumb down, smearing pre-come across his shaft, and then twists her hand just right so that he hisses again. She's going to make him come before they're even out of the gate, and the thought makes him a little crazy.

He runs his fingers over her hips, trying to drag out the moment and give himself some breathing room. He trails kisses down her chest, suckles the skin over the curve of her breast hard enough to leave a mark. She lets out a little punched out sound of surprise. He's already moving on, though, down across her belly. He parts her thighs with one hand and hitches her leg over his shoulder.

"Christ," she says as he licks into her. "No complaints from up here."

He grins. This he remembers how to do. _This_ , judging from the approving noises she's making, he's good at.

He's careful with her, using his tongue lightly across her clit at first, then ever so gently a finger. As she moves, starting to writhe beneath his touch, he fucks her with his tongue while keeping his hand steady against her in an easy rhythm. She moans wantonly, her fingers scrabbling against the duvet for purchase as he increases the pressure on her cunt. And then she's gone, muscles spasming at his touch. She's saying his name as the aftershocks roll through her, "Alec, Alec, here Alec," as she reaches for him. He presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh, taking care not to scratch her with his beard. She shudders all over once more, and winds the fingers of one hand into his hair to drag him up level with her mouth.

She cants her hips as he kisses her, using her free hand to slide his cock into her. It's a frictionless glide until he bottoms out, and then, finding his pace, it's all angles and intensity. She wraps her legs around him, her feet bumping his arse with each thrust. He bites his lip as she rises to meet him, trying desperately to hold back his orgasm.

He wants to do this forever -- wants to at least last five bloody minutes -- but she's making little wanting sounds as he moves and it undoes him. Far more quickly than he'd like he's emptying himself into her, panting as his heart struggles to catch up with the little shocks that seem to travel through him wherever their skin is touching.

"Oh," he says breathlessly, and she hums lightly in response, catching him open-mouthed to swipe her tongue against his for a brief moment. It's a sweet kiss, and he thinks he could stay like this, tangled up with her.

When he catches his breath, he tries to think of something suitable to say. His stupid inner censor fails him. "Um, that was good."

Ellie laughs, her whole body shaking, and he can't help the little sigh as he parts from her. "That was good?" she echoes.

He raises himself up on his hands and looks down at her face. Her hair is tousled, her cheeks ruddy, and her lips swollen where he's kissed her. She's gorgeous. "It was bloody fantastic," he tries again.

"Quite right," she says. She sweeps her arm out, dragging him down to the mattress and edging away from the mess they've made on the duvet. She rearranges him to her pleasing, curving her form against his until they're snug together, her back to his front. "We should do it again sometime."

"Really?" He sounds pathetically pleased, and makes a mental note to bin his inner censor for dereliction of duty. "I mean, that would be grand."

"Quit while you're ahead," she suggests, tracing a lazy path across his forearm with her thumb.

"Quitting," he says. And then, because it seems important right now, "And it won't be awkward, right? I mean, me and you. We'll still be us."

She brings his hand to her mouth and kisses the back of it. "Still us. Still Hardy and Miller. Just..." she trails off for a second, then tucks his hand against her chest. "With fringe benefits."

He feels boneless beneath her touch, and yet stronger with her cradled against him. It's a funny sort of incongruity. But that's always been them, sparking against one another in ways that challenge his expectations.

"Yeah," he says, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. "Still us."

Maybe his inner censor is still offline, but "us" feels a lot like what he's been waiting for.


End file.
